Author: Jack Stapleton

Episcopal priest (retired); Wild Animal Sanctuary volunteer (also retired); blogger (cautiously coming out of retirement)

The Cross: Multiple Layers of Meaning

What just happened? I write this on the morning of Holy Saturday, though it started a few days ago. Perhaps that opening question might have been asked by Jesus’ disciples in the shock following his traumatic reversal of fortune. That Jesus was dead was not in doubt. That he had died at the hands of the gentile occupying army was not in doubt. That at some point in his death throes he had claimed the Father had forsaken him was not in doubt. What his death meant may not have been asked on Holy Saturday, but it has been asked ever since then.

The arguments over the significance of Jesus’ death spring, in part, from the assumption that any event or story can have only one layer of meaning. For instance, the story about Jesus meeting with the unnamed woman at the well in Sychar has a coded meaning hidden in her background of having had five husbands and living with someone to whom she was not married. The story is the story of Samaria itself and part of the story behind the hostility between Jews and Samaritans. But it is certainly possible that the story in the 4th chapter of John’s Gospel is both an accurate account of an historical encounter and a parable of the history and redemption of Samaria.

That same possibility hangs over the various theories of the meaning of the death of Jesus. To that collection I want to add one more. Well, probably not “add” as I’ve no doubt that many have been down that path before me. Perhaps it is more accurate to say “highlight,” as I’ve not heard or read it explored in recent memory. This particular understanding incorporates several bits of the New Testament story without, I hope, doing violence to any of them. In particular I’m looking at Philippians 2:5-8; Hebrews 2:17 and 4:15; 2 Corinthians 5:21; Matthew 26:39 and several references throughout the Gospel of John.

In the Christian story we declare that God took on human nature in Jesus of Nazareth. And that immediately creates some problems. How would that function? It’s hard to keep one’s balance with that kind of declaration. We tend to slip over on the human side with fudging on divinity citing a high degree of “god consciousness” as an explanation for Jesus teaching and impact and dismissing extraordinary works of power as the credulous records of an ignorant age. Or we slip over on the god side with what I’ve come to call the “Clark Kent Conundrum.” Jesus looks human, but he’s really not. Strange visitor from a distant planet; faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound… and of course standing for truth, justice and the American way. I lifted the image from Fr. Robert Capon who was fierce in his insistence on the full humanity of Jesus without compromising the divinity. In that, Capon is right in line with Paul in Philippians:

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. (Philippians 2:5-8)

This same assertion is reiterated by the author of the letter to the Hebrews:

Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. (Hebrews 2:17)

The author here adds another function to the self-emptying of the eternal Word, the function of high priest. He has a great deal more to say about this high priestly role (as will I in other posts) but the one additional comment relevant is a couple of chapters on:

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. (Hebrews 4:15)

It is that exception, “yet without sin” that opens another view to the cross. After all, because of that exception Jesus is not sharing our full human experience. From his earliest days, he does not experience that awareness of isolation and alienation that haunts the human psyche. His awareness of and contact with the Father is unbroken. How can Jesus be my truly human savior until he knows my truly human darkness?

For a long time, Paul’s assertion about God making Jesus to be sin did not sit well with me. I was fine with Jesus carrying my sins. I was fine even with Jesus paying the price of my sin. But to be sin? “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21) Unless, of course, that was to be his final experience on the cross. For Jesus to experience the alienation of sin is a frightening thought for any Trinitarian. It means that there was a break within the very essence of God. Assuming that to be the case, it also made more sense of Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane.

The agonizing prayer that “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” (Matthew 26:39) I had always understood to be referring to the suffering and death on the cross. It seemed odd that one who knew the Resurrection was coming should have been so fearful as to ask for a reprieve if such a thing were possible. But if the cup referenced by Jesus was not the physical challenge but the taking on of the full alienation of sin, then it makes (to me) better sense.

Finally (for the moment) there is the cry of dereliction: “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” from Psalm 22. That would seem to mark a moment of sudden disconnection. If the Incarnation of the Word required a full immersion into our full humanity, this moment could also be considered the ultimate completion of that Incarnation. It also gives a slightly different twist to our interpretation of the word tetelestai most often rendered as “It is finished.” But tetelestai can be read other ways and in this context perhaps we should read “It is accomplished.” I am not suggesting that this view of the meaning of the cross is either original or superior to any other. I do suggest that this understanding may be a perfectly legitimate layer in the multiple layers of meaning of the cross.

The Palm/Passion Conundrum

I used to think that Palm Sunday got pretty short shrift in the Episcopal Church. Over forty years ago, in the revisions for the current Book of Common Prayer that were completed when I was in seminary, we combined Palm Sunday and Sunday of the Passion onto one Sunday observation. That made the service both long and disjointed. In our past we observed Passion Sunday two weeks before Easter and Palm Sunday the next week. But there were some peculiarities.

In our former liturgies, on Passion Sunday we didn’t read any of the Passion Gospels that describe the arrest, torture and execution of Jesus. Instead we read of a confrontation between Jesus and the religious leaders which concluded with him declaring “before Abraham was, I am.” To these authorities that statement would sound like Jesus would be claiming to be God. Not surprisingly their reaction was to look around for stones to throw at him. He manages to escape. And that’s Passion Sunday?

Then there came Palm Sunday, today, the Sunday before Easter. But did we read about Jesus riding into Jerusalem? Nooooo. We read the passion from the Gospel of Matthew. The whole blessed thing. Over three pages of small print. A very cursory review of our former liturgical practice indicates that the story of Palm Sunday was never read at all in our Sunday services. Our changes have made a step toward giving the Palm Sunday story its due, but only a small step.

The current liturgy for Palm Sunday begins with an acclamation and a prayer, followed by the Palm Sunday stories from either Matthew, Mark or Luke. Then follows a prayer over the palms followed by the palm procession. Most Episcopal churches use the hymn “All Glory, Laud and Honor” but stop in the midst of the hymn for this prayer:

Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

At the conclusion of the procession the service drops any focus on the Palm Sunday story and focuses instead on the Passion, including the reading of the Passion Gospel. Since the great majority of the service is the Passion, it’s hardly surprising that, over the years, most of my preaching on that day focused on the Passion as well. But in so doing I’ve neglected an important opportunity to tell part of the Jesus story that is often overlooked. It is overlooked in part, because it contradicts the narrative of religious culture that has been part of Christianity for centuries.

The scene that Jesus is acting out is almost familiar to his followers and the citizens of Jerusalem – almost familiar but with a twist. He is riding into Jerusalem and the crowds hail him as the son of David, declaring their hope that Jesus is the coming king, the long promised Messiah. But. Had they been paying closer attention they might have noticed that he’s not been following the script of kingship.

He’s drawn huge crowds, but he hasn’t assembled troops. He’s performed amazing miracles that can only be done with the power of God, but he hasn’t called down fire from on high to destroy the Roman occupying forces. He’s brought healing to many but at least one of the healed was the enemy, the servant of a Roman soldier. He’s taught about God’s kingdom, declared that this long awaited kingdom is at hand, but he’s peppered his teaching with troubling directions about blessing those who curse us and loving our enemies. He’s been to Jerusalem a couple of times but does most of his ministry in Galilee.

When he finally does make his move in Jerusalem he rides on a donkey. When a king comes riding to take charge of an enemy occupied city, he rides a warhorse. Jesus rides a donkey. In so doing he is channeling a prophecy from Zechariah: in which the king enters Jerusalem in humility and there is a promise of peace to the nations. Jesus is sending a message in all that he does. The kingdom of God doesn’t operate in the way human governments and rulers operate. God’s approach to power is not our approach to power.

There are two types of kingdom in contrast here: the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Caesar. These kingdoms are based on quite different – and contradictory – principles. Caesar’s way is the way our world works. Sadly, Caesar’s way is all too often the way the Church works. But the Caesar way is not the Jesus way. The Jesus way makes no sense in Caesar’s world. The Jesus way meets with incredulity, scorn and anger in Caesar’s world.

It is the Jesus way to which God calls each and every individual as an apprentice. It is the Jesus way into which God invites apprentices to be a Christian community. It is only the Jesus way that lasts, it is only the Jesus way that at the end of the day, wins.

And Now a Word from CQOD

CQOD is the “Christian Quote of the Day,” an email I receive each morning with quotes from Christian writers ancient and contemporary, well know and obscure. (You can also find their Facebook page as well as their web site.) Recently one quote caught my attention and gave me pause for thought. I offer it now in the hopes that the quote for the day can bring forth in you a thought for living.

   “Thank You for home (although we hold the deed),
    Our acre, trees, and flowers (ours by choice),
    Our faithful dog and cat (though it’s agreed
    No one can own the latter), each good book
    (A gift, or purchased), all else we foresaw
    That we should cherish, and have made to look
    Ours by possession (nine points of the law).”
   
    With what presumption have we called them ours,
    And even felt unselfish when we shared them–
    When, if the truth be known, they have been Yours
    From the beginning, Lord! You have prepared them
    For us to borrow, using as our own:
    So thank You, Father, for this generous loan.
    … Elaine V. Emans

The Ecclesiology of Inigo Montoya

Ecclesiology: noun, \ i-ˌklē-zē-ˈä-lə-jē, plural ecclesiologies. The meanings given refer either to the study of the doctrine of the Church, or oftentimes the study of church adornments and furnishing. It’s the former definition I’m about in this post and this is where the waters get muddy to the point of opaqueness. There seems to be a nearly infinite number of ecclesiologies floating about in Christian circles. Some of them refer to forms of church government, some to church membership, some to forms of worship. Lately I’ve been reflecting on a rather different approach to ecclesiology, that of Inigo Montoya. If you don’t know who he is, read the next paragraph; if you do, skip that and read on.

In the fall of 1987, the movie The Princess Bride hit the theatres and soon became a cult hit with a number of memorable lines. Perhaps the most frequently repeated came from Mandy Patinkin in the role of the swordsman Inigo Montoya. The leader of the outlaw group (Wallace Shawn as Vizzini) keeps responding to every unexpected event with the word “inconceivable!” Eventually Inigo Montoya confronts Vizzini: “Inconceivable? You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.”

The useful thing about Inigo’s line about misusing the word “inconceivable” is that so many terms will do just as well, such as: “Church? You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.” In reading the New Testament to examine the direct and indirect references to the Church led me to the conclusion that the first definition of Church against which all other uses must be tested is that Church is a community. It is not the leadership, though leaders are obviously part of that community. Nor is it buildings, nor denominations nor any other of the manifold uses of the word church in our common speech.

Perhaps a better way of phrasing it is that many of the uses of the word church may well be accurate but at the same time when addressing the question “What is the church?” those uses are at best misleading and at worst, useless. I am not offering a definitive answer to that question, only suggesting that a) the question is important and b) that the answer may be more complex and challenging than we think.

I know that this questioning puts me at odds with my own tradition, and in fact with centuries of consensus. From An Outline of the Faith in the Book of Common Prayer:
Q. How is Prayer: Church described in the Bible?
A. The Church is described as the Body of which Jesus Christ is the Head and of which all baptized persons are members….

Since the Reformation there have been alternative descriptions offered, each of which can make some appeal to the Bible for support. While I lean towards the description from the Book of Common Prayer my concern is that a quick acceptance of that or any of the alternatives pulls us away from the Biblical emphasis on how the Church functions (or fails to function) as a community.

That’s enough for now. Next (maybe) I’ll share my reflections on how that community is supposed to function and what that means for the way the culture of religion helps or hinders us.

A New Beginning

I’ve been writing these reflections off and on (mostly off) for the past few years. My first venue was a blog associated with Trinity Episcopal Church in Greeley where I served for over 15 years until my retirement at the end of 2018. Since that time we’ve moved from Greeley to our former home in Evergreen, Colorado and most of my time and energy has been devoted to unpacking, consolidating two households and donating quite a bit of stuff we’ve accumulated over the years. That is still going on and will be over the next several months. I planned to resume my reflections in April, so this is more an introduction/reintroduction to my work. With that in mind, I offer a few remarks on this blog itself.

Who am I writing for?

All sorts and conditions of people, but particularly Christians, ordained and lay, who are hungry to grow in their relationship with God. I’m writing for people who love the Church, the Body of Christ, but are frustrated and even disheartened by the constant failure of Christian religious culture to produce what is envisioned by the writings in the New Testament. The late Fr. Terry Fullam once observed that “the Church has been subnormal for so long that if it ever became normal it would look abnormal.” Which leads me to my next question.

What will this be about?

There will be a hodgepodge of topics ranging from ecclesiastical structure to biblical anthropology to spiritual disciplines to general theology.  A great deal of this springs from years of preparing sermons and newsletter articles and teachings and reading many books that cause me to reflect anew on things I had thought were settled.

Why Apprentice Priest?

I was ordained an Episcopal priest in 1978. I’ve served seven congregations in three diocese in Kentucky, Delaware and Colorado. One might think I should have moved beyond being apprentice by now. Yet I’ve never stopped learning what it meant to be a parish priest and was still learning the day I walked out of my last parish.

The two words that make up the name of this blog have deeper meanings that just that. The late Dallas Willard, trying to convey a better grasp of the meaning of being a disciple of Jesus, suggested that the term “apprentice” came closer to the meaning of the term as it is used in the New Testament. Some time after I had adopted Willard’s terminology it occurred to me that there was another good reason to adopt the term apprentice instead of disciple. One can be a disciple of anyone living or dead. All one needs is access to the master’s teaching. But one can only apprentice oneself to a living person. To be an apprentice of Jesus means that one’s relationship with Jesus is dynamic and ongoing, rooted in the Gospels but fleshed out in a life of prayer and community.

The use of the word “priest” does not, in fact, refer to Holy Orders. It does refer to the role and activity of priest or shaman in most religious cultures. A wonderful, if somewhat dated book by Robert Farrar Capon, first put me on that track with his assertion that the original purpose of humankind was to be the priests of creation. In that sense, all human activity is priestly activity. Capon’s thesis included the observation that human priesthood, at some point in history, went wrong (the Fall of Adam & Eve) and in Jesus a new priesthood was created in which those who are “in Christ” participate.

Well, that’s it for starters. If you decide to follow along with these reflections please be warned that there is little organization to my postings. They will jump from topic to topic with little warning. Some reflections will stop mid-stream and not resume until several posts later. When I retired I needed to produce new business cards and gave some thought about how I would describe myself. My quirks in preaching and teaching gave me the answer…

The Rev’d Jack Stapleton, retired
Professional Follower of Rabbit Trails

Moving On

This entry was the last posted on the church blog at Trinity. I had planned to delete it after my own postings had been migrated to this site. But there are a few things said below that need to hang around for a good deal longer.

My entries to this blog have been sporadic at best, but that is going to change in any number of ways in the next few weeks. After serving over fifteen years as the priest at Trinity Episcopal Church in Greeley, I am stepping down from that role on December 31 and retiring from parish ministry leadership on January 1, 2019.

The address of this blog is trinitygreeley.wordpress.com and that will stay with the parish. The past content will be moved to a new home: http://www.apprenticepriest.com.  The move will take place early in January. Given the joys of packing up and saying my goodbyes in the midst of the Advent/Christmas seasons (what was I thinking?) I doubt I will make another post on this site before that move.

Though this post will only stay up a few more weeks I will close it off with thanksgiving. I thank God for sending us to Trinity. Trinity parish has been a place of healing, of vision, of hope and of energy for Dorie Ann and me. The town in which we have been blessed to live has a marketing phrase: “Greeley Unexpected.” That’s certainly been true in our case. With the vision and commitment of local leaders Greeley is in the midst of a wonderful period of renewal and we will miss this place very much. I have been privileged to work along side of some of these leaders and to get to know many others.

Still, I come back to God’s graciousness in allowing us to be part of this parish family. You all are on an exciting path. There will be many challenges, a few pot-holes, new opportunities and many unexpected blessings. Over 15 years ago I had my first chance to speak to many of the congregation at a special meeting in which, among many other things, I was introduced as your soon-to-be interim rector. At that meeting God gave me a phrase to share with you, a phrase that turned out to be prophetic. And it is still true.

God has a future for Trinity, and that future is good.

It shall not be so among you

It’s election season. Again. Sigh. In spite of the posturing, imprecations, dissemination and generally bad behavior, I did vote in the primary election. For whom and in which party’s primary is known to God, to me and to my wife. I wasn’t happy about a couple of votes cast, but you go with the options you are given. What depresses me most about election season is neither the flawed candidates (for I am as flawed in my own way as any of them are in theirs), nor the flawed platforms of the parties (I know many of both parties who object to elements of their own party’s platforms). What disturbs me most is the “Christian” component of the political struggles.

I have no objection to people of faith or issues of faith in the public square. Indeed, without that voice much justice and much mercy might never have been seen in our society. On the other hand, our present day cacophony so often invokes the word Christian in support of disparate causes and people that we are faced with a terrible communication problem. That is to say that the word “Christian” can mean so many things that it almost means nothing at all.

The term Christian appears only three times in the New Testament and each use refers to followers of Jesus, people who believed that Jesus was the God-anointed messiah (Christ) and therefore rightful Lord of the world. These early Christians, known as followers of “The Way” had a wealth of material in oral tradition about what Jesus said about himself and about how his disciples were supposed to live. These traditions were compiled in four different accounts, the four Gospels, and can offer us some insight into how Jesus viewed the politics of the world in which he lived and what he expected of his disciples in that context. Two episodes in particular offer a measuring rod in assessing the competing claims of Christians in our political climate. I’ve written about both in the past, but want to look at them again in the light of the current political context.

The episodes are out of sequence and the first of the two I wrote about last November in A Tale of Two Kingdoms. That article started with examining kosmos, the word in the NT most often translated as world. Briefly, kosmos refers to an orderly arrangement, whether that arrangement is physical, social or moral. The NT uses the term in a variety of ways, but in the first episode it refers to the values and assumptions in human society, the values and assumptions from which our world is ordered. Here then is an extract from that entry:

In John’s Gospel there is a recounting of a conversation between Jesus and the Roman Procurator, Pontius Pilate. When Pilate challenges Jesus about the accusations the Jewish authorities have lodged against him, the most common translation of Jesus’ reply goes like this: Jesus answered, “My kingship is not of this world; if my kingship were of this world, my servants would fight, that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my kingship is not from the world.” (John 18:36) But taking the term kosmos as orderly arrangement, a paraphrase called the Complete Jewish Bible gives this rendition: Yeshua answered, “My kingship does not derive its authority from this world’s order of things. If it did, my men would have fought to keep me from being arrested by the Judeans. But my kingship does not come from here.”

The paraphrase contrasts the divine order from which Jesus operates and from which his authority is derived with the human order in which Pilate operates and from which his authority is derived. In short, this scene is a confrontation between Caesar’s kosmos and Christ’s kosmos. Within Jesus’ statement is a prime example of that contrast. Jesus notes that if he operated in Caesar’s world then his followers would have fought to prevent his arrest. That is, after all, standard operating procedure for Caesar’s world: meet force with force, threat with threat, power with power, manipulation with manipulation. Authority in Caesar’s world comes from being in charge, gaining control. Whether it is by election or coup or conquest, whether it is motivated by a desire to build and bless or a desire to conserve and protect or a desire to hold power and control, the methods are ultimately Caesar’s methods. And that methodology Jesus rejects by observing that his authority isn’t derived from that S.O.P.

So if Jesus rejects the one universal human methodology of gaining leadership, does he offer an alternative? That brings me to the second episode which occurs shortly before the conversation with Pilate. In this case, Jesus is headed towards Jerusalem and for his final confrontation. He has warned his disciples that rejection, arrest, mocking and execution await him at the end of the journey. Then the brothers, James and John, come to Jesus, jockeying for position when he comes to power. Jesus rebuffs their attempt, telling them that such exalted positions they desire are not his to grant. Needless to say, when the other 10 disciples find out about this bit of power politics, they are furious. Then Jesus calls them all together and gives them the methodology of the Kingdom of God.

And Jesus called them to him and said to them, “You know that those who are supposed to rule over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great men exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of man also came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:42-45)

Try selling that to a political consultant! However, if that is Jesus’ criteria for leadership, does that exclude Christians from seeking leadership roles in human society? Not necessarily. Assuming the earliest meaning of the term “Christian,” a disciple of Jesus is excluded from the normal methods of pursuing paths to power in our world. A disciple of Jesus may indeed apply for appointment or even run for office. It is how that disciple treats those in the campaign – supporters, staff or opposition – that reflects the Jesus world or Caesar’s world. Nor is it enough that the disciple in such circumstances personally refrain from treating others like so much road kill on the path to power. To comply with Jesus’ rejection of the methods of the gentiles, the disciple will also have to repudiate the tactics of purported supporters and allies who resort to Caesar’s methods.

This is obviously no solution to the toxicity of our electoral politics. But it is an alternative. If a disciple is called by God to run for office, then that campaign is to be waged by Jesus’ methods. If the disciple is defeated in the election, he or she will still have preserved their soul and honored their Lord. Jesus did not promise us victory in every battle, only that he has won the final victory. Or as an old Pentecostal preacher cried: “I took a peek in the back of the book – and Jesus wins!”

The End of Lent

I wrote the article below for our March newsletter in the parish. The title referred to Easter as either merely the end of Lent or the beginning of new creation. After publication it did occur to me that “The End of Lent” had one other level of meaning, i.e., the purpose or destiny of Lent. After all, we need constant reminder that the disciplines of the spiritual life are not for making us feel better about ourselves or to make us more religious persons. Instead they are to connect us so deeply with God that our deeds of mercy become more than human good intentions but rather channels through which God’s healing grace and justice enter our broken and benighted world.

All of the month of March falls in the season of Lent, including all of Holy Week. Our focus for Lent 2018 has been on a congregational challenge to practice spiritual disciplines in a program called 10 Brave Christians. Response has been heartening as we have distributed nearly 100 of the program booklets. The real test for us is how many of us persevere through the program.

In the meantime, the society in which we live and move continues with its disturbing behavior in mass slayings, sexual harassment and exploitation, angry squawking, finger pointing, fake news and outright lies. Given the inundation of bad news it can certainly seem that a church like Trinity running a program like 10 Brave Christians, is living in denial or “so heavenly minded that it is of no earthly good.”

Part of the problem in understanding how our program addresses the crying needs of our world springs from a misunderstanding of what the Resurrection of Jesus means. As we prepare to celebrate the Feast of His Resurrection on April 1st it might be helpful to change the way we think of that Feast from being a glorious conclusion to the end of Lent to seeing it as a glorious beginning to a season of new life and new hope.

First of all, we need to grasp that the Resurrection of Jesus was not the mere resuscitation of a corpse. Had that been the case, while it might have provided some comfort to the disciples, it would have left the human situation exactly as it was before the crucifixion. Resurrection is the beginning of a new creation built of the same material involved in the first creation. Jesus appears suddenly in the midst of a locked room, but invites Thomas to touch his substantial body. He has, according to Paul a soma pneumatikon, a spiritual body, yet he eats substantial food in the presence of his disciples. This Resurrected person is something new in human history, something that the evolutionary history of humankind cannot account for. The Resurrected Jesus does not come up through human history, he breaks into human history to launch a new humanity.

But the real misunderstanding we Christians have about the Resurrection is that the effect of the Resurrection is only vertical. That is to say, because Jesus died for us and rose again we can have our sins forgiven and be with him in heaven when we die. That much may be true, but it is distorted by the omission of the horizontal effect of the Resurrection. Because of our baptism and through the indwelling of God’s Spirit in us, the new creation is at work in and through us in our benighted world, in all our works and words done in Christ. Those last two words, in Christ, are essential to the new creation working through us. Any Christian, no matter how sincere, who operates solely by his or her own good will and effort makes as much or as little impact as the operations of any person of good will, of any faith or of none. When we acknowledge our own powerlessness to effect substantial change and, with empty hands, invite the Spirit of God to work through us, then the power of the new creation is let loose in otherwise ordinary deeds and words.

Thus, the Risen Life of Jesus moves through us to affect all that we do in our world. Our cooperative work with God’s good purposes is honed and enhanced through our intentional connection with the Risen Lord in regular disciplines like 10 Brave Christians and our Trinity Way of Life. The work God enables us to do and the words God gives us to speak do much to thwart evil in our times, even though we may not know what might have otherwise happened. That work and those words also release much good and healing in our world though we may not directly see the results.

This may all seem a bit much to keep in mind as we struggle to keep Lent in an arrhythmic and frantic culture. But it makes all the difference in whether Easter Day is merely the end of Lent or a launching of God’s redemption in the normal spheres of our lives. This year, April 1st may be a day when the foolishness of God again proves wiser than human wisdom. Or it could be just another April Fool’s Day. That’s pretty much up to us.

The Two Kingdoms and the Problem with Kings

After writing about the two kingdoms our church celebrated the feast of Christ the King – the last Sunday before the beginning of Advent. The problem with the concept of the two kingdoms is that we are so far removed from kings and realms that it often seems unreal, almost mythical. But the bigger problem is that the kingdom of which Jesus is king makes no sense to our concepts of sovereignty and power – and it didn’t make sense to Jesus’ contemporaries either.

The images of Christ as King don’t really work for a group of 21st century American disciples.  There are two primary reasons for this and the first is that kingship, at least as the ancient world understood it, is something we rejected 240 years ago and is now relegated to quaint European customs or fairy tales. We may know something of the absolute monarchs of history but very few of our modern dictators come close to the atmosphere and authority of kingship as it was known long ago. To proclaim Christ as king therefore, seems a bit unreal, divorced from the substance of our daily life. We might call today the feast of Christ the benevolent dictator but aside from its awkwardness we only move from unreal to unpleasant. But even if we could grasp the ancient view of kingship and present Christ as king in a way that might appeal to our desire for order and for justice, we run into a second and more difficult problem.

The way that Jesus is presented as king in the Gospels made as little sense to the people of the first century as it does to the people of the 21st. For instance, let’s look at the three presentations of Jesus as king that is used in the three year cycles of the Revised Common Lectionary. On November 26 of this year we completed the first cycle, Year A, so I’ll push that one off until the end. If we jump ahead to the third year, Year C, we have a story of Jesus suffering a public and humiliating execution. Crucifixion was known for its cruelty, a slow tortuous death.

The Roman’s didn’t mess about. They had nailed a piece of wood to the cross that read, contemptuously, “This is the King of the Jews.” In doing this they mocked not only the one they were executing but the whole Jewish people. “Here is your king,” the Roman’s proclaimed, “and see what we can do to him.” Since it was more efficient to do multiple executions the Romans also crucified two criminals. In their agony one criminal calls out “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

And that’s it for Year C. Jesus is nailed to a cross with a sign proclaiming “This is the king of the Jews.” The Roman soldiers mock him saying “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.” A criminal pleads for Jesus to remember him when he comes into his kingdom.” None of this makes the slightest bit of sense to any person of that time with any idea of what being king means, particularly for any Jew hoping that God will send them a king to deliver them from Roman occupation.

Year B, the second cycle that began on December 3, doesn’t improve the situation. Here in John’s Gospel we come in on Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, interrogating Jesus. Without going into detail, Pilate despises the Jews and particularly the Jewish leadership. He suspects he is being used by these leaders to get rid of someone who is threatening their authority. However, the charge is that Jesus is claiming to be the king of the Jews and that, from a Roman point of view, is treason. His conversation with Jesus is a study in failure to communicate.

When asked point blank whether he is King, Jesus answers that “My kingship does not derive its authority from this world’s order of things. If it did, my men would have fought to keep me from being arrested by the Judeans. But my kingship does not come from here.”[1]

In this response there are echoes of a rebuke that Jesus gave to his disciples when they were debating about what important positions they would hold when Jesus became king and restored nationhood to Israel: Jesus called them together and said, “You know that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”[2]

This brings us back to the reading from Year A of the cycle where we have something at last that sounds like kingship as we and the people of the first century might imagine it. Though all is not as it appears.

Take that opening phrase: “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne.” To us this theme is familiar only because we’ve heard the story before. But those who heard it for the first time also found it familiar. For any Jew who had hopes for liberation and vindication of Israel, this was a favorite scene from the Book of Daniel when the God of Israel overthrows the Gentile kingdoms. But the vision continues: “In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all nations and peoples of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.”[3]

So when Jesus begins his story his audience immediately connects with an image of final triumph. But his story takes a turn. There is indeed judgment and vindication. But the vindication is of the hungry and thirsty, the foreigner and the destitute, the sick and the prisoner. And the judgment is on those who failed to see that in serving those they would have been serving their king. It seems at last, that even the king-like story that Jesus tells is inextricably tied to his rebuke to his ambitious disciples.

We are faced then with a hard challenge. Our culture – our economic culture, our political culture, our entertainment culture, our social culture – the ocean of human values in which we all swim is a culture that has everything to do with Caesar’s approach to power and almost nothing to do with the kingdom that Jesus inaugurates. For 20 centuries Christians have tried to control it or use it only to find ourselves subverted by it and becoming what we were meant to heal. The only way to heal our culture is not to go to war with it but to subvert it by refusing dominance and instead offering service, to return blessing wherever we encounter cursing, care for those whom Jesus identifies in his story.

It is true that Jesus will indeed return and establish finally what he has begun in his apprentices. But it is also true that Jesus is already king and is even now subverting Caesar’s dominance by agents like us who heal, feed, protect and bless. Our goal is not to overthrow those in power but by our words and deeds, in the power of the Holy Spirit, to show them a more excellent way.

[1] The quote of John 18:36 is taken from the paraphrase, The Complete Jewish Bible. Though a paraphrase it is an accurate reflection of the meaning of the text.
[2] Mark 10:42-45
[3] Daniel 7:13-14

A Tale of Two Kingdoms

Pretty much all I write about in this forum has a fundamental assumption that can tie a number of disparate musings into a connected thread. One might call it my way of looking at the world. In fact, it is the troublesome word “world” that strikes near the heart of the matter.

In the New Testament the use of the word world most often translates a Greek term: kosmos. Although kosmos has come into our language as cosmos, its original meaning referred to an orderly arrangement, even a decoration. By implication it could refer to the whole created order, but that included the inhabitants of the world and the way those inhabitants organized life, including moral organization which could encompass politics, business or the whole value system of human societies. Because of the breadth of possible meaning, the New Testament is ambiguous in its application of the term. In the letter of James, we read that “friendship with the world is enmity with God.” But, famously, the Gospel of John tells us that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…” There is one other use of the term world that further illustrates the ambiguity.

In John’s Gospel there is a recounting of a conversation between Jesus and the Roman Procurator, Pontius Pilate. When Pilate challenges Jesus about the accusations the Jewish authorities have lodged against him, the most common translation of Jesus’ reply goes like this: Jesus answered, “My kingship is not of this world; if my kingship were of this world, my servants would fight, that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my kingship is not from the world.” (John 18:36) But taking the term kosmos as orderly arrangement, a paraphrase called the Complete Jewish Bible gives this rendition: Yeshua answered, “My kingship does not derive its authority from this world’s order of things. If it did, my men would have fought to keep me from being arrested by the Judeans. But my kingship does not come from here.”

Thus, the reply of Jesus draws an immediate contrast between the order of things that Pilate knows and a different arrangement from which Jesus draws his authority. The example Jesus uses is the example of armed resistance. That is the behavior Pilate (and Caesar) recognizes. That is why Pilate cannot seem to grasp what Jesus is saying. In Caesar’s kingdom, Jesus simply doesn’t make sense.

And there we have the two kingdoms face to face. On the one hand, there is Caesar’s kingdom. We know that kingdom well. It is the arrangement of things that governs human life across the globe. It is the system of government, business, education, politics and social groups of all sizes in all cultures. If you have ever had the pleasure of engaging in church politics whether in a congregation or a convention, it is painfully obvious that churches more often than not, order themselves according to the rules of Caesar’s kingdom.

Some time ago a wise priest discouraged me from invoking Robert’s Rules of Order to govern church meetings. He pointed out that the origin of that protocol was to handle conflict. It assumes conflict. And when there is none, invoking those rules can occasionally create conflict. Robert’s Rules of Order are tailor made for Caesar’s kingdom.

The alternative to Caesar’s kingdom is, of course, the kingdom of God, even though God’s church all too often can’t seem to tell the difference. This second kingdom is the one that Jesus announces as he begins his ministry. Jesus announces that this kingdom is near, is at hand, is in our midst. This last comment (Luke 17:21) is often translated as the kingdom being within or among, but in your midst is a reading more consistent with Jesus’ other teachings on the kingdom. One commentator notes that: “The whole language of the kingdom of heaven being within men, rather than men being within the kingdom, is modern”

Perhaps there is no other clearer passage about the orderly arrangement (kosmos) of God’s kingdom than Jesus’ rebuke to his disciples as they were arguing who would be the highest officials in the kingdom Jesus was proclaiming. It is best to take the whole passage which gives the setting:

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to [Jesus], “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.” When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:35-45)

I have neither the qualifications nor the capacity to do a thorough exegesis of the contrast of the two kingdoms. Instead I want to underline that there are two kingdoms, that one of them, God’s kingdom, is at work in the midst of Caesar’s both undercutting its legitimacy and healing the wounds it causes. All else I write about blessing, priesthood or any other aspect of spiritual formation flows from my understanding of that reality.